


How to Make a Caged Bird Sing

by einfach_mich



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Drabble, F/M, Light BDSM, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 16,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/einfach_mich/pseuds/einfach_mich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki takes on a human pet and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Loki traced the lines of ink upon her soft skin. Mortal skin always seemed so much thinner, immaterial in comparison to his own. Her whole body felt like it was woven from crystal glass, and covered in a warm silk, as thin as tissue paper.

“What is the meaning?” He pressed his palm along the feathered wing covering her hip and leaned down to gather her hair with his free hand. 

“Always wished I could fly,” the mortal girl replied, turning to look at him with the stormy eyes. 

“Perhaps I will teach you how,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to her temple. 

“I thought you were supposed to be good at lying,” she chuckles softly, and presses her body into his, causing a startled laugh to escape him. 

“You are supposed to be bewitched by my charm,” he countered, tightening his hold on her hair. “Foolish mortal girl.”

“Say my name, and maybe I’ll play along,” she moaned, tilting her head back and exposed the pale expanse of her neck. “Great God of Mischief.” 

He slipped his hand between her thighs, finding her wet and trembling beneath his touch. “You may address me as Master, Darcy Lewis.”

“Yes, Master,” she gasped, her plump lips parting to welcome his kiss.


	2. Simple Twist of Fate

It is strange to think a simple twist of fate brought him to this moment. His brother’s sentimentality had brought him to this feeble world, in search of a human woman who held the key to Thor’s heart. She was weakness to be exploited. A mistake that Thor should have never made. Jane Foster had been his originally target, but instead he found a foul mouthed, vixen in the domicile of the good doctor.

Loki seized the opportunity, taking possession of the girl and set to exploring her knowledge. She was short and voluptuous with a verbose and vulgar vocabulary. Breaking her would make up for his failure to find Thor’s woman. All good plans should be flexible and there was no doubt he would gain what he need from this little mortal. After all, words are his gift and if he, Loki son of Laufeyson, could not crack the mind of on mortal woman he had not right to sit upon the throne again. 

He should have known, that first night, when he laid her out upon the silken sheets and chained her in place. When his eyes kept lingering on the pale expanse of her skin, the soft curve of her generous hips and the heavy swell of her breasts. He should have guess she prove to be most distracting.

“If you’re going to kill me get it over with, if not I need to pee.” She waved a curvy leg at him, making the chains dangling from her ankle cuff jangle loudly.


	3. Insufferable Creature

“I told you, I don’t know where she is,” she fought her bounds, thrashing and twisting on top of the silk sheets. “I only came by to feed her fucking cat!”

“It is useless to fight,” he said, taking a seat beside her on the bed. 

“So is keeping me here when I can’t tell you anything,” Darcy growled, her eyes wide and her expression fierce.

“And yet I can’t tell you are holding something back,” he said, pressing his finger against her temple. “There is no point in trying to conceal it. I will get what I need with or without your cooperation.”

“Fuck you!” She jerked away from his touch, but he quickly captured her head between his hands. 

He leaned in closer, the light playing with the contours of his face and giving him a menacing appearance. “All your bravado is wasted on me. I can smell the stench of fear on you.”

His lips pulled back from his teeth in sneering grin. Any creature with healthily sense of self preservation could have easily decipher the obviously threatening gesture. However, as he was quickly learning, Darcy Lewis clearly had no desire to live. This fact was made even more apparent when she stopped glaring at him and began to giggle. 

“Do you find something amusing?” Loki leaned back, confused by the sudden shift in her demeanor. 

“I can see right up your nose and you need to trim your nose hairs,” she replied with a smirk.

Loki placed his hand over her face and her entire body stiffened for a second, then went limp. He took a deep breath in the blessed silence, while he watched her unconscious body take slow, steady breaths. It would be easier to just kill her, might even make him feel better, but he hesitated. even now he could see something hidden in her mind. A cloudy area, obscured from his powers. 

He stood, glanced out onto the gathering evening that lay beyond the glass windows of his penthouse and puzzled over how a she could possibly be blocking him, even in unconsciousness. It was improbable that a simple human woman would possess any true magic and equally unlikely that she had the superior intellect required to actively shield her mind. She had not even possessed the common sense to properly attire herself for the inclement weather. 

There was something else at work here, and the key lay within her mind. He had to know have it. If he were to not at least try to obtain it, the entire journey to this retched planet will have been a waste.

With a sigh of resignation he turn back to gaze at the strange woman and sighed. “Insufferable creature.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some technical difficulties with uploading the chapter last night. Sorry for any confusion or frustration. It's all there now.


	4. Set the Tone

“What do you think?” Clint pressed his chest against her back.

“It’s beautiful.” Darcy stared out the window at the glittering beauty of the Eiffel Tower cutting through Paris skyline like a great golden spear.

“So are you,” he turned her around and leaned close. 

“Wait,” she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“What is it?” He brushed his fingers against her cheek and tried to step closer.

“This isn’t right,” she pulled away and crossed her arms. 

“It is, you know it,” Clint insisted, a pleading look on his face. “I love you.”

“See, that right there is all wrong.” She threw up her arms and shook her head. “Barton is not that big on romantic declarations. He’s more of a hard and heavy up against the wall type.”

Clint’s expression darkened into a scowl and the visage of the S.H.E.I.L.D. agent quickly melted away, leaving behind a disgruntled god. “Duly noted.” 

“Sorry, but all the smoke and mirrors shit is wasted on me,” Darcy offered with a shrug. 

Loki moved in a blur, and suddenly his hand on her throat. “I only sought to make it easy on you, give you a pleasant fantasy, but you seem to crave hardship.” 

“You have no idea,” She choked out a ragged laugh as she clawed at his hand. 

“Very well,” he replied with a laugh and placed his finger upon her forehead. “Hardship you shall have.” 

Darcy’s eyes widened in horror and strangled cry erupted from her mouth. He plunged into her mind, seeking out the secrets, being careful not be too forceful with his probing. Her mind was so flimsy, one wrong move and he could shatter her it like glass. 

It did not need to hurt, but she had rejected his attempt at mercy insisted he do his worst. Well, if she so wished to prove her metal he would happily oblige. If he found some satisfaction in giving her the pain she seemed to so dearly desired, so be it.

He gently peeled back the layers of her resistance and gazed deep into her mind to find a dark and strange little treasure. “What have we here?”


	5. Let the Dance Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit dub-con, consider yourself warned.

“Did you truly believe you could hide this from me?” The mixture of danger and bemusement in his tone sent a chill down her naked spine. 

Darcy shifted in her restraints making the golden chains jingle and brush against her bare skin. It was a surprisingly warm and delightful sensation. She struggled to suppress the pleasurable shiver it sent through her body, but there was no way to conceal her hard nipples. 

“I must say, you’re quite imaginative,” he placed his leather-gloved hand upon her neck caressing her skin and taking hold of the delicate, bejeweled collar. “Also, very detailed.” He smiled, all teeth and mischief. 

She bit down hard on the gag, wishing her could speak around the thick rubber filling her mouth, but it was pointless to fight. There was no escape. This was the perfect trap,and it was working a little too perfectly for her.

“It is futile to resist, after all your mind constructed this little scenario,” he stepped back, causing his coat to swish around his legs and the scarf hanging around his neck to sway. “I was not wholly unaware of this style of sensual distraction, though I have never experienced it first hand. I did pay witness to it once, a long time ago and I must say you are far more appealing than the drunken whore who received the whipping that night.” 

Loki spun on his heel and walked over to the wall, where a variety of tools and sex toys hung on display. He browsed, moving slowly and paused occasionally to take an item down for a closer examination.

She began to tremble when he took down a scalpel, the light reflecting off the deadly looking blade. He glanced over his shoulder at her, as if he felt her fear or smelled it in the air, but eventually he replaced it on the wall and walked on. He even took down a ridiculously large phallus, waved it at her and actually chuckled rather loudly before returning it to the wall. 

It would have been funny, the way her acted almost like an exuberant child in a toy store, if she wasn’t bound and gaged. She tried to calm herself, breathed and tried to will away her fear. It worked until he turned around and she saw what he held in his hand. Her entire body tensed, even as she felt herself contract in anticipation. 

“It looks as if I have chosen well.” Loki held up the glass handle of the flogger allowing it to catch the light and show the undeniable shape. “I must confess, you have exquisite taste.” He smirked at the duel meaning and gave her a wink. 

This was, after all, her fantasy plucked from the depths of her dark imagination and recreated before her eyes. Everything from the outfit he wore in the footage she’d seen of his attack in Germany to her own bound state, even the combination dildo flogger she dreamed of him using. He hadn’t missed a single detail. 

He laid the cool glass of the handle against her bare breast, that same grin on his face as he ran it around her nipple. She couldn’t control her reactions, or the fact that she was so turned on she was close to coming just from this small touch. It was embarrassing and humiliating, which only served to turn her on more. 

Of all the things he could have used against her, why did he have to pick this one? The answer lay in the look of fascination and pride on his face. She tired to swallow the whimpering moans he was drawing from her, but it was no use. Loki was playing her body like master, just like she imagined he would. 

He tapped her thigh to signal her to spread her legs. She resisted, but changed her mind when he pinched her nipple with cruel expertise making her gasp around the gag. He released her nipple once her legs parted.

“I do not know why you bother with feigning reluctance.” He leaned closer, his silky hair brushing against her cheek and filling her nose with a strangely enticing scent that she attributed to his magic. “Even if I could not read your mind, you body would betray just how desperately you desire this...and me.”

The tone of his voice lowered and he began to trace circles over her clit with the tip of the handle. She was panting and her legs were shaking in a matter of seconds. He varied his strokes, swiping the handle over her entrance and humming when she jerked in response. 

“While this is very interesting,” he whispered while he finally, every so slowly, slid the handle inside her. “I am far more curious about your response to pain.” With that he pinched her nipple again, twisting and tugging on it roughly.

She came with a shrill scream that even her gag couldn’t muffle. He continued to move the handle inside her, while she shuddered through the accompanying aftershocks of her violent orgasm. When it became too much she shook her head and he finally withdrew the handle. 

He brushed her hair from her face and unfastened the gag. She gulped down mouthfuls of air and blinked the tears out of her eyes. Loki cradled her head between his hands, an unguarded expression of wonder on his face. It made him look less like a crazy god and more like a horny teenager who has just seen a nudie magazine for the first time. 

The thought made her laugh a little and wondered if she had finally lost her mind. 

“You cannot lose something you no longer own,” he answered her unspoken question and closed the distance between them with a kiss.


	6. Deviation

"One more." The whip cut through the air with a sharp hiss and struck home with a loud crack.

Darcy flinched, but made no sound. Her eyes were closed, jaw clenched. Face flushed a rose color that highlighted her pale skin, much like the red marks crisscrossing her buttocks and back.

"Good girl," Loki sighed, pushing his hair from his face and set the whip back on the wall. "Now for your reward."

"Please," her whispered, her head craning to see him.

"You do look so succulent when you beg." He strode over to brush his fingers over her now tear slicked cheek. 

"I told you, i don't know where she is," her eyes were wide, pleading and he almost felt pity for his poor little confused pet.

"We are beyond such trifles," Loki said, with a shake of his head. "You are far more fascinating than pursuing Thor's whore."

She pulled back from his touch, her eyes flared with defiance. "She is not a whore."

Loki grinned down at her, delight sparkling in his eyes. "Oh, do not disparage a noble and ancient profession, my pet. After all, you are no better. At least they are paid for their services."

He leaned closer, sliding his hand across her belly and between her legs. "Though I suppose this could be considered a form of compensation."

Darcy gasped as his fingers slid between her legs. "Oh god!"

"Yes," he laughed and slowly drew circles upon her slick, heated skin.

She proved most amusing. This desire for pain and pleasure. Her inexplicable craving for his touch even as she spat forth insults. He could feel how desperately she wanted him, be it through kindness or cruelty. Little Darcy Lewis was deeply enamored. Foolish mortal.

It was a glorious game, taking her to the threshold of her body's limit only to pull her back from the brink and bring her to her knees with overwhelming pleasure. Darcy's body trembled as her orgasm overtook her, a shrill scream erupting from her beautiful lips. He would never cease to be fascinated by this display of uncontrolled desire. The violent beauty of her please left him aroused beyond measure.

She sagged in her restrains, boneless and sweaty from exertion. He quickly banished the chains and cuffs with a thought, easily catching her limp body before she hit the floor. It was strange how he felt the weight of her body acutely as he held her in his arm. She was no true burden to his strength, but the sight of her limp and glistening with spent desire tugged at him. 

He banished the thought and set her down upon the silken bed. The cool material would soothe her now unmarked skin. There was no need for her to continue to wear the wounds, but he ensured her skin retained the memory of the pain. 

He had watched her after each session and noted a certain amount of pleasure she derived from the soreness. She would hiss and gingerly shift on the bed, touching her skin and closing her eyes as of to savor the pain. A wistful smile pulling her full lips into a seductive bow.

She moaned softly when he set her upon the sheets and carefully spread her dark hair over the pillow in a spray of mahogany waves. He had an inordinate fascination with her hair. It was silky and thick. While its hue at first glance appeared mundane, when it caught the sunlight is was a captivating kaleidoscope of colors.

 He brushed it from her face and lightly grazed her cheek with his knuckles. Her eyes opened and a small smile played over her lips. There was not doubt she confounded him.

"Why me?" Her voice was a small whisper, hoarse and strained.

"Must there be a reason?" He matched her smile, sitting down beside her on the bed.

"I'm just some dumbass in the wrong place at the wrong time," she sighed reaching out to press her hand to his chest.

"You're no victim of chance." He took hold of her hand and guided it down between his legs, so she could feel him hard and straining against the thick leather of his pants. "I alone took hold of your fate. You are mine."

Her eyelids grew heavy, lowering over he dark eyes. "Then stop teasing me and take what's yours."

She gently squeezed his cock, he could feel her nails biting into the leather. He imagined the delightfully sting that would pierce his skin. Devious little creature. She possessed her own magic that threatened to distract him. He laughed, deep and low, gently pulling her hand away. Darcy groaned as he placed a kiss upon her knuckles and stood.

"Sadistic bastard." She slowly rolled onto her stomach, pressing her flushed face into her pillow.

Loki only laughed louder as he left the room.


	7. In the Night

He shifted in the plush embrace of the armchair, and stared out at the muted lights of the human world below. The night sky here was never truly dark, not as it is in the depth of space where he had been banished. There lay a blackness so hollow and cold that one could easily mistake it for death. 

Not him. He knew that his end would never be so peaceful. _Violent beginnings have violent ends._

A cry drew his attention to the shifting form under the silken sheets of his bed. She let out a muffled sob and flipped onto her back, hair thrashing as her hands reached out to claw at the air. He was beside her in the space of a breath, hands upon her face and comforting words slipping from his lips before he knew what he was doing. 

Her eyes fluttered open, tears slipped free to stain the pillow beneath her head a darker red. He brushed his hand over her face. Wiped away the damp trail from her face. 

"I couldn't breathe," she gasped, and swallowed with effort, her eyes still wide with terror.

"Foolish girl, you are breathing," he chided her, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "It was but a dream."

"It wasn't." She shook her head, and shifted away, pulling free of his touch. 

He disliked how even this small gesture stung. It should not matter. His hand grasped at the slippery fabric of the sheets, and suppressed the desire to tear the fabric into shreds. He could see himself fastening the strips of cloth into rope with which to bind her to the bed and force her to look at him. 

Desire warred with fury, swirling inside his chest and demanding he take action. He took a deep breath, and forced himself back under control. It would happen, it was a surety, but not right now. 

"Sleep," he spoke in a even tone, though his knuckles turned white and his jaw twitched. "You will need your rest to withstand what is to come."

"What is that?" She turned back to gaze at him, the spark of defiance had returned to her dark eyes. 

"If I told you it would ruin the surprise." He let a humorless smile stretch his lips until he was sure the malice was clear. 

Darcy did not flinch or show any sign that she feared what he was implying. She merely returned his smile and rested her head on the pillow. Her dark eyes stayed fixed on him for several minutes before she finally closed them, and resumed her slumber.

With great effort, Loki released the sheets from his grasp and stretched his fingers. His gaze stayed fixed on her sleeping form. As if doing so would assist him in understanding the strange behavior which had come over him.

His inexplicable concern and even more puzzling fury at her rejection. It was ludicrous that he should be so affected by this creature. Was she capable of some unknown sorcery that could erode his control and sanity? It might explain why he had not killed her a hundred times over her the countless ways she had insulted and infuriated him. Was it something else? Not her fear, but rather the hint of sorrow in her voice and loss in her eyes. 

He rose from the bed and returned to his chair. The human city and it's multitude of lights winked at him, teasing him with the secrets, but they could not tempt him away from the enigma snoring softly in his bed. What could this mortal girl possible know of grief?


	8. Dawning

He watched the sunlight turn her skin to gold. The slow progression of the light bathing over her naked body, transforming her into something wondrous and completely his. A surge of arousal and pleasure rushed through him, settling in his groin. 

Darcy stretched and shifted in his lap. She arched her back, pressing her bare breasts against his erection, while rising her plump ass in the air. Every part of her was tempting him, to touch, taste and take her fully.

It was a game they had begun to play. One where she tempted him and he teased her, delighting in her frustration. Reveled in her desire for him.

He laid a single finger upon her the skin, tracing the pattern of ink that decorated her body. The image of a bird covered the supple skin of her ass. A few days ago she had told him the bird was a symbol of her desire to fly. He had promised to teach her how and she mocked him in response. Her disbelief had stung. 

Another unwelcome sign of his growing attachment. Like this game of teasing seduction they played that cast him in the unlikely role of denying her the full pleasure of his body. While she played the wanton temptress, using every means at her disposal to tempt him to take her.

Darcy’s body shifted and tensed beneath his light touch. He could smell her heightened state of arousal, see her skin prickle and flush in response. She was ripe and ready to be taken. Like a luscious fruit waiting to be plucked and savored. If he would only allow himself to take this last step. 

Loki sighed, sliding his hand between her trembling thighs to find her slick with desire. She whimpered his name, her body shifting to push against his touch. He slipped a single finger inside of her and savored the strangled groan it drove from her mouth.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Darcy pulled away from his finger with surprising speed, and rose up to face him with a furious expression. 

“I have not decided yet,” he replied with a smile. 

“What if I don’t want to wait anymore?” She pressed her hand to his groin, fingers seeking the fastenings of his trousers and quickly opening them one by one. “What if I’m tired of you stupid fucking games?”

The front of his trousers lay open, exposing his hard cock. He made no move to cover himself or push her away. She made no further move to touch him.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Neither speaking or looking away. He wondered what she might be thinking, while he wondered at his own inability to act. What was it about her that made him doubt himself in this way?

The answer did not come, but Darcy’s nimble fingers did. She took hold of him in a firm grip, shifting her leg to straddle his hips and posed herself above him. He watched her, marveling at how beautiful and powerful she looked hovering over his cock. 

“Last chance,” she whispered, though he was not sure if she was speaking to him or herself. 

In the end it did not matter. He did not protest when she finally began to slowly sink down onto him. Her tight body clinging to him with a torturous kind of pleasure that left him breathless and sapped his strength. 

Darcy settled onto him. Her weight pinning his body to the sofa beneath him and reenforcing the realization that they were finally, physically locked together. Loki whispered her name and she gave him a gratified smile. 

“I win.” She laughed softly, the sound reverberating through her body and into him.   
 


	9. Hide and Seek

The tinted windows of the car did little to block the brilliance of the afternoon sunlight. Darcy shifted on the seat next him, her tiny, black clothing barley containing her curves. While he enjoyed her naked, there was something appealing about Midgardian garb. The curve of her breasts, encased in the corseted top and the thin strip of a skirt sliding up her thighs with each little bounce upon the leather seats.

“Can we go to the park?” She flipped hear silky hair off her shoulder, and flashed him her little dangerous smile. “We could play Pretty Woman.”

“I am unfamiliar with this game.” He slid his gloved hand along her cream-colored thigh. 

Darcy took the touch as the cue it was, and shifted closer to him. “It's easy. You play the stuff rich guy who's badly in need of a new perspective and I'm the hooker with a heart of gold who teaches you how to fall in love with life again.”

“Sounds rather involved.” Loki leaned back into the seat and feigned disinterest.

His delightful little mortal was not dissuaded, she knew this game and had become as adept at it as he was. She slung her long, bare leg over his lap and took hold of his tie.

“It could involve a blow job.” Her grin turned positively predator, causing him to harden in an instant. 

“I might be inclined to play along,” he replied with an answering smile.

“Good.” She shifted herself onto his lap and wrapped his tie around her clenched fist. “Let's practice on the way.”

Loki laughed, grasp her thighs in his hands and pulled her closer. “You're enthusiasm never ceases to amaze me.”

Darcy leans in close, he can feel her breath like upon his lips. “And my ability to deep throat your dick is nothing to sneeze at either.”

He laughs, pulling her into his arms and places a kiss on her temple. She hummed, pressing her face against his neck. He moved his hands over her body, holding her tight and letting her feel his erection through his trousers.   
 Darcy moaned and tilted her hips to grind herself against him. He ran his hand down her corseted torso and captured the hem of her skirt in his fingertips. One tug turned it into a belt, revealing her lack of any underclothes. They both let out a startled gasp of delight. 

“You like?” Her breathless question is barely more than a whisper.

He gazed at her wicked grin, hooded eyes and wanton mouth. “A woeful understatement.”

He worked open his pants with one hand and pulled out his cock. She hungrily sank down on him without a word. They moved against each other in a fevered pace, his hands gripping her hips as he drove himself up into her body. He would never get enough of this, of her body and bright smile. Nor did he truly want to. 

Darcy moaned and laughed, reveling in the hurried pace of their sex. Her nails sank into his smooth fabric of his jacket, her soft red mouth opened in a soundless moan as her body griped him tight. He could not help but give into the power of her climax and the thunderous explosion of pleasure surging through him. 

He pulled her down onto his cock and came inside her with a shuddered curse. He continued to thrust into her, his lips pressed together to muffle his needful cry. All the while, she held him in her fragile, mortal arms and hummed in his ear.

They remain in the embrace, his arms wrapped tight around her body, while he listened to the sound of her breathing and the strange soft humming filling him with a sense of calm.


	10. Use Your Words

“While the theatrics are quite entertaining, my dear. A simple signal of acquiescence is all that is required.” Loki flips back the lash across the marble floor, it's long tail of leather slither like an ebony serpents tail.  
   
“Tough,” she gasps around the leather belt in her mouth.

“You are tenacious, I will give you that.” He laughed, crossing the floor in a few short strides and leaned in close to her prone body.

It was the same old dance. Despite the new shape of their relationship this remained the same. Loki loved the game. Reveled in the trappings of the dominance and submission. He was beginning to lose himself in the role. 

“Gonna talk me to death?” She manages to work the belt free of her mouth to sneer at him.

“I intend to break you, Miss Lewis.” He seizes her jaw in his hand, forcing her to gaze at him. “I want to hear you beg for mercy.”

“Let me know how that works out for you,” she replies with a smirk.

Loki smiles, wide and proud as he stands. He adores her defiance, and often praises her for it. Not that will stay his hand. She must be punished, in accordance with the rules of the game. He brings the lash down in a smooth motion, cutting an angry red line across her back.

Darcy screams, tears leaking from her eyes, but she doesn't give in. She lifts her head to meet his gaze. "May I have another?"

Loki nods and lets loose another blow. She jerks and tenses from the searing pain, but doesn’t give any sign of surrendering. The blows continue to fall, filling the air with the sound of the lash and her muffled cries. Darcy loses count of the strikes, choosing to focus on her breathing and tries to work through the pain. She fights to hold out, intent on not giving in until she either passes out or he relents. When she is on the edge, her body screaming for her to give in and beg for mercy, he finally stops.

The lash hits the floor with a dull thud and he kneels dow. He tugs the leather belt away, and leans up to kiss her mouth. It is a reward, for them both. Darcy laughs against his lips. A soft sighing sound born out of a mixture of relief, mild hysteria and triumph.

A powerful alien god kneels before her hanging, bloody body. A look of concern and adoration smoothing the darkness from his normally shadowed face. He gazes up at her with unshed tears glittering in his eyes. She graces him with a smile. A small but powerful gesture of reassurance.

The ropes that bind her fade into nothing as do the lash marks that seconds earlier were broken open and bleeding down her back. Even the pain is now a distant dream. Darcy falls into his waiting arms with an exhausted grunt. 

He pulls her into his lap, cradling and continuing to shower her with kisses. She receives them with a relived smile and pushes him down onto his back, laying him out on the floor. Soon clothing is pushed out the way and she takes his hard cock in her hand. This simple, naked, mortal girl hovers above him, like a predator. 

Loki whispers her name and she hums in reply, slowly sinking down onto him. They both gasp at the connection. He arches his back, while her blunt nails scrape down his chest. She rides his body, unrelenting in her need. Her face lit up with hungry glee. He gives himself over to the pleasure she’s driving through his body.

She sees the surrender in every part of him. How he lays back, body writing beneath her. His hands clinging her to hips, not to direct, but like anchors to hold them together. In these small ways he betrays himself. 

Darcy’s smile spreads into a wicked grin of victory. He may hold the whip, her great and glorious god, but in this moment there is no mistake who is in control. Not that he ever had a chance. The odds were in her favor from the start. 

She rides him to her own climax. Her back bows, and she shouts at the sky, but doesn’t stop moving over him. He joins her, but where she is loud he is quiet. A whispered moan signals his release and he rises up to enfold her in his arms.

They slide down to the floor, his arms keeping them close and his words tickle across her skin. The room around them swirls and reforms, leaving them top his silken bed. Thick blankets covering them in a warm embrace. He speaks so softly she can barely hear his words of regret and longing. How he longs for a homeland that was never truly his and a time before he was ignorant of origins. 

"Illusions are the heart of my power, but also my haven. I prefer their...simplicity." His expression is soften by the confession gives him almost a boyish look. 

"I can see how they're more appealing." She replies, brushing a few stray strands of his hair from his face. "Though I'd like to think reality holds some interesting distractions too." Darcy punctuates her words by pinching the tip of his nose and makes an accompanying honking sound.

Loki laughs, and kisses her again. "You are a rather remarkable creature, Darcy Lewis."

“That's what I keep saying,” she says with an exasperated sigh and gives him a wink. 

They grow quiet, lapsing into a comfortable silence. His eyes fixed on her, a small, content smile upon his thin lips. She watches while he slowly drifts off to sleep and gently strokes his cheek with her hand. He clings to her as if he fears her lose even in his unconscious state. Darcy smiles.

“Simulation cycle complete. Prepare for shutdown.” The automated voice cuts through the serene quiet and jars Darcy out of the bed. 

The room shifts around her, Loki and the furniture disappear. Leaving her in a brilliant white, but empty room. She closes her eyes, allowing her mind to go through the disengagement cycle before finally reopening her eyes in the real world.

She can see Loki through the thick glass of the face plate on the front of her stasis chamber. His eyes are closed, thick black hair framing his pale face. The blinking green light at the display below his own face plate indicating that he still remained in stasis. Still sleeping in their shared dream, in his bed with her in his arms.

An audible hiss of compressed air signals the opening of her chamber and she takes a breath of fresh air like a drowning man emerging from the deep. It tastes stale and sterile, but her lungs don’t care. The canned air in the stasis chambers has a rubbing alcohol smell that she hates and the pressurized atmosphere makes her lungs work harder to breathe. It’s the only way to create the sensory deprivation required to induce the shared dream-state. It still sucked ass and made her feel like she has a ton of bricks on her chest.

She climbs out of the chamber on shaky legs, and tightly grips the hand rail on the exit platform. It takes her a few more seconds of blinking and breathing to steady herself. Then she raises her eyes to see Clint Barton leaning against the control panel with his typical disapproving frown. 

“Mind explaining why you’re seventy two hours late reporting in?” He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side, all in a calculated effort to cover the extent of his concern.

Judging by his presence and the lack of any other team member she wasn’t in too much trouble. Not that deal with him was a cake walk. Anything but. Still, it was nothing she couldn’t handle. After all she’d just played the biggest player in the universe. If she could seduce a god, she can handle a grilling from Hawkeye. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Barton.” She gave him a smirk.


	11. Behind the Curtain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember I don't have a beta. Sorry for that, but YAY for updates. :)

Night has fallen in the simulated world. Loki is at rest. The secondary monitor shows his neurological readings to be steady. He will not regain consciousness for at least eight hours.

Barton shifts his gaze to the primary monitor, displaying a birds-eye view of the simulation, to find Darcy still laying beside the slumbering prisoner. She looks comfortable in the fantasy world. It has only been three months since the simulation began, but it already feels like it has gone too far.

He starts the shutdown sequence for the simulation. She’s been in there long enough. The automated voice echos through the speakers, informing Darcy of the simulation is about to end.

The system chimed and the primary monitor went black. Darcy’s capsule, stationed in front of Loki’s status chamber, slid open to reveal a very haggard looking Darcy Lewis. He couldn’t ignore the dark shadows under her eyes and pallor of her complexion.

“Mind explaining why you’re seventy two hours late reporting in?” Barton tried to conceal his concern, but he could tell by the way she smirked and the sarcastic tone of her reply she could see right through him.

Coulson was good. He could spot a potential agent with his eyes closed. It was a shame he couldn’t see her now. Then again he would be first in line to chew her out, might have even tasered Barton to ensure he got to her first. He was always protective of his favorites. 

Barton stepped around the control panel to offer his assistance, and she pointedly ignored him to step out of the capsule. “Mother hen doesn’t look good on you, Barton.” 

“Looking like shit doesn’t suit you either, Lewis,” he replied, leaning his back against the control panel. 

“Flatterer,” she laughed wearily, removing the last of the sensors from her head and dropped them into his waiting hand.

She walked around the control panel and sat down to type her report. He moved back to stand behind her, but didn’t pay attention to the words on the monitor. Instead he watched her face. 

She was still so young, green. Two years since recruitment, but she still looked like the fresh faced college girl who charmed Coulson into giving her a full-ride scholarship along with an internship as a junior agent. He did not begrudge her any of it, she had more than earned her stripes. Gone above and beyond in his opinion.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Darcy said without looking up. 

“Just checking,” he replied, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t,” she snapped, and he immediately removed his hand. 

“Darcy-” he began, but she cut him off, turning to glare at him.

“Would you be doing this if I was Natasha?” Her words cut throw him like a red-hot knife.

“Your abilities are not in question,” he answered, desperate for words to convince her to stop, but he was never good with words. 

“Then what is?” She glared at him, her tired eyes turned sharp with anger.

He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and hated how awkward she made him feel in these moments. “Killing yourself won’t get us to the answers any faster, and it won’t bring him back.”

“Get out,” she turned back to the monitor. 

He stared at her back for a long moment and finally headed toward the door. As the automatic door slid open he stopped short and looked back at her. She was still typing away.

Clint looked beyond the control panel to gaze at Loki’s status chamber, where the devil slept and dreamed. Even trapped he looked deadly. He wished that Darcy could see the dangerous game she was playing.

“Be careful.” It was a soft whisper, but she heard it. 

Darcy stopped typing, but didn’t turn around. “You too.” 

He stepped into the hallway, the door shut behind him. His com came to life, reports of an attack on San Francisco. Stark and Banner were en-route. Barton tapped his com and replied with his own eta. 

The answer voice, screaming a casualty count allowed him to ignore the voice inside his head that wanted him to go back to Darcy. He couldn’t save her, but he could help the people in San Francisco. 

“Pick your battles, Barton.” He muttered and began to jog down the corridor.


	12. Step Up the Tempo

“The clock is ticking, Lewis. I need you to step it up. Find out what he knows.” Fury’s fuzzy image fads in and out on the monitor, while another explosion sends the people behind him off balance, while he merely looks more annoyed. “I need that portal shut down if we are going to have any hope of fighting back.”

“Understood, sir.” She answers, punching in the changes to the simulation while they talk. “There’s no guarantee I have enough leverage to make it work.”

“I don’t care if you have to pry the intel out of his skull with a crowbar. Get it done. We are already on borrowed time.” The transmission cut off, before she could reply.

Darcy lets out a slow breath, allowing herself to sag under the weight of it all for a second before she straightens again. Her fingers fly over the keys, finishing the last of the adjustments to the simulation. If she was going to jump the shark, she might as well do it with style. She’d red the psych evaluations on Loki at least a hundred times, even consulted Natasha on her strategy. 

Seducing someone like Loki was a long play, with a slow build. Push him too fast or too hard and you risk showing your hand. Or in this case her throat. Fuck it up and she would be a splattered fly on a cosmic windshield. She really need to work on better metaphors. 

The code was complete. She leaned back to watch the processor munch on the new data, and hoped it would work. Though deep down she was pretty sure it wouldn’t.

It was too soon. Fury knew it too, but they were out of options. If she didn’t make it work they were all lost. Earth was fucked, and not in a kinky fun way she’s been getting it for that past few months. 

Darcy sighs, and stands up from the control panel. The doors to the lab open, drawing her attention to the agent coming on duty. He looks vaguely familiar, but she’s can’t be bothered to care too much. He’s here to observe the simulation. Barton’s way of pissing her off, without manning up to do it in person. A real bitch move on his part. Sending one of his toadies to watch her and ensure she took her mandatory breaks. Darcy planned to kick him square in this balls for it, if she lived through this last run.

She began to undress. Uncaring of her company, she set her holster, weapons and uniform on the stand near Loki’s stasis chamber. His face was still passive, slumber making him look younger, less dangerous and way too sexy for her own good. 

“You still have two hours left before you’re cleared for reentry.” Her new babysitter is taking his job seriously. 

“What’s your name?” She turns around, now completely nude and takes petty joy in how her fellow agent is noticeably uncomfortable.   
“Carter.” He replies, while he pretends to study one of the monitors she knows is off.

“Enjoy the show, Carter.” Darcy turned her back to him, and stepped up to her capsule. “And be ready to pull me out if it gets dicey.”

She punches the activation button with her fist and waits for the chamber to slide open.


	13. What Dreams May Come

He dreams of pain, betrayal and loss. An emptiness that dwarfs the expanse of space. Cold silence that threatens to strangle him. Out of the darkness came the horrors. Countless worlds, each more terrible than the last. A carnival of atrocities played out before him in a loop of blood, mayhem and death. The futility sickened him, made him weary with longing for something he could no longer name. The place he once called home, but Asgard was his no longer. 

Now, an aimless fugitive, he navigating an alien space in search of a purpose and meaning. In that cold, black abyss he found a mission, an ally and a new mission to...

It slips his grasp, and slithers away to dissipate like stardust on the wind. The breaking of a new day drags him back into consciousness. Replacing smoldering fury with the reassuring caress of silken sheets, and the luxurious scent of sex. It was still fresh on his skin, a comfort. Loki is lost no longer. 

“Darcy,” her name is a languid sigh, thick with desire and promise. 

There is no answer, but silence and he quickly opens his eyes to find the bed empty, save for his own naked body aching for the comfort of a warm embrace. Her spot beside him is cool to the touch. He is alone.

He is on his feet in seconds, clothing forming around his body. It is inconceivable that she would flee. She wants for nothing while in his care. Every need, and want of body and soul fulfilled. There is nothing he can not conjure into being for her, nothing he would not do, short of setting her free. Some prices were too high, even for a god.

The empty living room mocks him, as does the darkened kitchen. He finds the glass doors leading to the balcony ajar, the gossamer curtains dancing on the wild currents of air streaming into the room. The heart of a god does not beat with the rabbit-quick pace of a mortal's, they follow a slower, steadier clock. Loki reassures himself it is impossible for the hurried thumping to be coming from him. It is more likely for the chilling panic to be coming from some other, yet unknown, source. His speed in closing the distance to open doorway merely a show of power, not an indication of concern.

He finds her leaning against the thin fingers of the iron railing. Her dark hair like a cloak whipping wildly in the wind, striking a stark contrast to the passive expression upon her face. The sadness that often haunts her dreams has followed her into the daylight.

"Such a face to greet the glory of morning?" He strides forward to stand beside her, placing a hand upon her shoulder. 

Her eyes meet his, as a single tear slides down the her smooth, porcelain skin of her cheek. The sight is arresting, causing a stinging sensation not unlike the head of a spear lodged beneath his breast. "Melancholy does not suit you."

She gifts him with a smile so slight that he fears the wind will steal it away. "Have you ever disappointed someone?"

The question should not cut him so deep. He is not the kind of creature given to such weaknesses as empathy or regret. Yet his mind conjures Thor's face twisted with an expression that is equal parts grief and heartbreak. The golden god of Asgard’s depthless compassion and love met it’s equal in Loki’s deception and betrayal. As was his plan all along. 

Such blind trust is a profound weakness that a future king of Asgard could not afford to indulge. Loki knew this truth when he plotted to against Thor, his intention only to prove the prince was still a feckless youth unprepared for the weight of the crown. He, only second to Odin, knows the toll such power and responsibility takes upon the heart and soul. When his purpose twisted, when his heart hardened and his mind clouded with rage...

"Even a god knows the bitter taste of regret." His thumb slides along her skin to catch another tear before it stains the beauty of her face.

"Do you?" She captures his wrist in a surprisingly strong grasp, her expression darkening to something akin to anger. "Would you change things if you could?"

"What do you mean?" He pulls free of her grasp, confused by the sudden change in her countenance. 

"Time is running out." She points a finger at the horizon. 

He turns to see the city transform before his eyes. The once tranquil twilight erupts into an all too familiar scene of chaos and violence. The Chitauri tearing apart the city, while humans run and scream in fear. He knows this. 

The taste of ash and blood stings his tongue and his heart a like. This is the battle he began. The one had forgotten. 

“What is this?” He snarls, and returns his gaze to find Darcy glare at him, her eyes alight with a fiery rage of her own.

The world around them melts and swirls, but he holds his ground. Her petty illusions hold no more power to surprise him now. He of all understand what it is to mold perception, to twist a point of view to his own will. 

Humans run like cattle all around them. While buildings explode, and showers the streets in a rainfall of glittering glass. Darcy is beside him, stiff as a statue. Her face is still a mask of fury. “This is what you did to my world.” 

A young child clutches the broken, dead body of another. His cries are a wordless, shapeless sound that cuts at something deep in side Loki. A place he does not wish to remembers exists. The boy is thin, pale and weak, while the one he holds is much older with blond hair dirtied by blond and gore. 

“His name is Matthew Spenser. That’s his brother Brandon, who died trying to protect him.” Darcy steps into Loki’s view. 

He turns from her and the crying child, desperate for distance and tries to cling to his rage. She betrayed him, she of all those who could...the sting gives him the calm he needs to face her again.

“What should I care for the death of insects?” He replies with a condescending grin.

She slaps him hard across his face. “I expected better from you.”

"Emergency protocol! Security breach. Simulation ending." A voice sounds from all around them, compounding his confusion and causing Darcy to close her eyes. "Times up."

The world shifts with searing speed that leaving him reeling. He blinks his eyes, and takes in air in greedy gulps. As his vision focuses on his new surroundings clarity rekindles the fire of his rage. 

He screams her name until his lungs ached an his ears ring.


	14. Shitstorm

Darcy doesn’t so much climb out of her capsule as she falls out like a boneless heap of anger, fear and resignation. Her naked shoulder hits the grated walkway hard, sending a sharp shock of pain through her and rattles her teeth. Talk about a cherry on top of a shit sandwich. Not that there was any metaphor that really could encompass how well and truly they are fucked.

"Are you okay?" A vaguely familiar face appears in front of her while she gets to her feet and slaps away he hand he holds out.

"What in the ever living fuck is going on?" She yelled, pushing past him to grab at her uniform and quickly put it on.

"A scouting party followed one of our teams back to base. Their inside, and a Chitauri cruiser is closing in on our location." He shouts while resuming his station at the control panel.

Darcy throws on her holster, checks her guns and knives before finally sparing a glance at Loki. His fists meet the plexi-glass in front of him while he yells, the entire chamber vibrates with each blow. It won’t hold out long, but then again it doesn’t really have to. Not any more. 

She can’t hear him due to the sound proof enclosure, but it’s easy to read the way his lips snarl around each syllable of her name. He is really pissed. The thought send a completely inappropriate thrill right to her clit. Too bad she doesn’t have time to be scared, much less turned on.

 _Prioritize your attention. Focus on the immediate threat and then work your way down._ Natasha’s words come to mind, and finally pulls her away from the sight of Loki’s rage.

“How much time do we have-” an explosion cuts her off, and sends her flying into the side of Loki’s chamber. 

Muffled yelling, and her lungs screaming for air is her world for a short eternity. Her hands feel heavy, her limbs ache and protest every movement, but she doesn’t stop until she’s standing again. Her gun is in her hand, and she spares a half second to feel proud. Her training stuck. Now, if she can just remember enough of it to stay alive. 

Chitauri fill the room, like a swarming sea of gray bodies. The other agent, she thinks his name is Carter, lies in pieces on the floor. She kind of feels bad for being a bitch to him now, not that it matters now that he’s dead. Or maybe it matters more. 

_No time for naval gazing, Lewis._ She scolds herself and takes aim at the nearest one. They won’t go down easy, but if she can hit them in the eye or mouth it will slow them down. Maybe buy her enough time.

“Initiate prisoner release. Alpha clearance, Five, Zero, Niner.” She yells while takes two more shots and moves in front of Loki’s chamber. 

“Warning, containment field deactivated.” She can barely hear the automated voice over the chaos and the laser blast that just missed her head. 

She dodges, sliding to the side and rises to see the chamber open. Loki emerges from a cloud of condensation that tastes like honeysuckle when she breathes it in. _Show off._ She thinks with a reluctant smirk, and turns to face another attacker. 

The heel of her boot connects with it’s chin. She feels the contact like an electric shock that echos up her leg and shakes her spine, but it successfully stuns the creature until she can slip a knife from her arm sheath. Darcy sink the blade hilt deep into its nose, and catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

Loki moves forward, shouting in some alien language she can’t understand, but she sees the spark of recognition, like tiny camera flashes, in the eyes of the Chitauri. It floods her with a mixture of fear and frustration. “You idiot!” She screams and tears the laser sword from the hands of Chitauri she’s just killed. “They have orders to kill you on sight.”

She lunges forward, severing the head of the next attacker and uses the momentum of her swing to gut two more. Rebounding is slower, and she is already running on fumes after three straight days of running simulations. She’s slowing down and the loss of a few precious seconds costs her dearly.

The blast feels oddly cold, like an icy knife carving a hole in her side. She finds the shooter a second later, plants the sword in its throat before stumbling to her knees. _So wet, and not in a sexy way,_ is all she can think. Blood pours down her side, runs onto her leg, and makes her fingers slippery as she tries to hold the wound closed. 

She manages to lift her gaze, to fix it on Loki’s shocked expression before the last of her strength and balance leaves her to collapse on the floor. More screaming, and laser blasts echo in her ears. A decapitated head of a Chitauri flies by to make a wet splat against the plexi-glass of Loki’s empty, stasis chamber. 

Darcy tries to hold her side, while vaguely wondering why she isn’t dead yet. Surely they could spare one alien soldier to put her out of her misery. The pain is excruciating. She needed a nap, and a vacation. Maybe a margarita and deep tissue massage while she’s at it. She’s pretty sure she’s delirious or maybe just dying? 

People say all kinds of strange things when they’re dying. Her uncle Melvin sang Donna Summers songs. She could still hear his scratchy voice crooning Hot Stuff from his hospital bed, while the nursing staff giggled while looking confused. He really loved disco.

She wants to laugh, but the pain steals her strength and someone is leaning over her. Bright green eyes and shinning raven hair distract her from the pain. Loki’s curious expression makes her smile.


	15. The Stars Are Enough

A splatter of crimson stains her lips, making something tragic of what was once seductive and sweet. He can still taste her on his tongue, still feel the weight of her in his arms. Though now she lay upon the hard steel floor with a smoking wound in her side. Her life dampening the soles of his boots. 

"Fix it," she whispers, her voice hoarse and strains with the will to live despite the fatal wound. "Close the portal."

Her words should not affect him. They should be like the flapping wings of a fly. Yet he knees beside her body. His hand reaches out to cover the wet wound. It takes restraint to keep from crushing her fragile body while pressing upon the wound to stop the bleeding. He holds back, keeps her alive. Strange he should do so. Her life should mean anything, especially considering her betrayal. 

She is a liar, manipulator, sent by Fury and his insect army to trick him. As if such trifles, the charms of a mere girl, could ever work upon him. He is Loki, the trickster and god of lies. A sorcerer and weaver of illusions. It is he who commands and manipulates minds.

"Loki..." Darcy coughs, heavy and pained. "Please."

She who rarely begs, who never truly broke beneath his whip. The girl who seduced a god, and conspired against him. She has the gall to ask a boon of him. As her life stains the floor in an ever-growing crimson pool, Darcy Lewis finally begs, but not for her life. Not for his mercy, but for her world.

He works quickly, tearing the cape from his shoulders. Asgardian silk, no fabric is stronger. His magic permeates every thread and will slow time, will knit like a second skin to close the wound. He secures it tightly, and places her into his stasis chamber. The capsule closes and as he reaches toward the controls a callused hand reaches them first.

The archer. Once one of his puppets, and enemy. Now... Loki is unsure. The man doesn't meet his gaze. His eyes are fixed upon the panel, his fingers typing in the commands to preserver Darcy's life until Loki can return to save her. Not for her sake, but his own. After all. He is a selfish creature by nature and he refuses to let go of the one thing in all the universes that is well and truly his.

"Take me to Thor." The archer doesn't speak. He just sighs heavily, and leads the way out of the small room Loki does not spare a backward glance for Darcy. Whether it is out of a surety that she will live or a fear she will die he will never allow himself to contemplate. He focuses on the task at hand. 

"We believe it is some kind of suspended animation." Jane Foster flutters around Thor's side, concern and apprehension clear in every frantic gesture she makes. 

"God sleep," he explains. "A form of healing for... his kind."

Even now he must stop himself, must remember he is not of Asgard. His sleep was false, induced by Midgardian's primitive magic, little more sophisticated than hitting his head with a large stone. "A thermonuclear stone," Fury attempts to correct him, but still even a flea who can control lightning is unimpressive by Loki's estimation.

"We gathered as much, but we can't figure out how to wake him." She touches Thor’s golden hair, her tiny fingers tangling in the strands. "We've tried everything."

Loki does not roll his eyes, though the urge to do so it great. He strides forward, gently brushing the good doctor aside and ignores the commotion his quick movements inspire in the small space. Foolish creatures. If he had wanted to kill Thor he would have done so immediately and dispatched all of them as well.

He strikes Thor hard across the face. The sound is deafening, a thunderclap of their flesh clashing. Loki remembers how Freya would scold them for making such a clatter when they were but children. He would attempt to wrestle Thor and wind up flying through the wall of the palace. Thor would smash through what remained of the wall to tackle him and laugh. "You will reduce all of Asgard to rumble with your play" she would say. Strange how simple words spoken in their youth hold true today. Though more than one world is in ashes because of their play.

Thor stirs, a throaty snort rumbles out of his nose and mouth. His eyes slowly open and the passive slumbering face transforms into an expression of confusion. "Brother?"

Loki does not fight the smile that spread his lips. "Come, we have a world to save." He holds his hand aloft, and is not left waiting for an answering grasp.


	16. The Ballad of Guðfrøðr

“I can’t let you-” The soldier shakes his head and moves toward the modified Chitauri speeder.

“That is not your call to make, Captain Spangly Pants.” Stark cuts him off, setting his iron body in the way and continues to waste time.

Loki has long since grown weary of there bickering. Fury’s forces combined with the power of the Avengers has allowed them to push back enemy forces. Giving them a clear path toward the portal. However, their window of opportunity is shrinking by the second. Further delays will cost them too dearly. Yet, as the fate of their world hangs in the balance they fight like children. Such is the weakness of men.

He moves slowly, careful to divert attention away from himself by amplifying their aggression and raising the volume of their shouting. They make it too easy. The fever of battle is still fresh in their blood. It makes them foolish, narrows their focus and obscures what is truly important. A mistake Loki has vowed to never allow himself to make again.

“Brother,” Thor’s grips his arm, the expression of concern clear despite the streaks of blood and dirty smeared across his face. “The risk is too great.”

“As is the cost if we fail.” Loki meet’s his brother’s gaze, and marvels at the simple truth resonates through him. “We do what we must, Brother.”

Thor’s smile is sad, but resigned. He understands and does not turn around to see the real Loki step onto the speeder. Instead he holds tight to the illusion, while his teammates continue to argue.

Loki’s steers the speeder over the broken remains of Manhattan. The detonator affixed to the front of a large warhead blinks like a angry insect, casting a small red streak of light across Loki’s leg. He turns his eyes from it, noting the time he has left before it detonates and trains his eyes on the only building still standing in the ruin of the city.

A splash of blood red hair catches his eyes. The assassin still lives. He can see her wielding his scepter with deadly precision, while the archer fights at her side. It is a wonder that they have managed to hold their position, with more Chitauri are swarming up the sides of the building. They will be overtaken in minutes. Luckily they only need seconds. 

Loki sends a shot of green light at the assassin’s feet to catching her attention. His magic quickly manifests a simple construct of his head which delivers the message. He turns the speeder skyward.

 _Once I have flown through close it._ Simple words. Too simple to be his last.

Loki slides the Chitauri mask over his face, and engages the engines to full speed. The speeder whines and protests, but finally complies with a screech. As he sails through the portal and into open space, he locks in the course. He lends some of his own power to the engine causing it to triple it’s speed as it races toward the Chitauri mothership.

The ballad Guðfrøðr comes to mind. An old song favored by battle-drunk warriors seeking comfort that can only be found between a pair of welcoming thighs. A tale of a prince who loses his heart to a peasant girl, and sacrifices his life to save her people. He laughs at the irony, even as he begins to sing.

With one last thought of warn skin and dark eyes, he releases his grip on the speeder and falls into the cold embrace of space.


	17. (Not So) Tidy Endings

Darcy awakens in a shadowy room. The only light is a warm golden glow coming from the strange platform beneath her body. She wipes her eyes and wonders if this is another simulation. Or maybe she’s dead.

Then she realizes she has to pee. “Definitely not dead.” 

She rises slowly, still unsure of her surroundings. Tugging the thin sheet covering her naked body around her shoulders as she stands. The floor is warm and smooth. It reminds her of Loki’s penthouse from the simulation, but she knows this is real. At least it feels real.

Doors on the far side of the room suddenly open, flooding the room with light. Darcy quickly moves behind the platform. She has no weapons, but distance will give her time to react. If nothing else she could use the sheet to strangle an attacker. Natasha would be so proud. 

“You are finally awake!” The booming voice is so familiar and comforting she wants to cry. 

Thor envelopes her in his huge arms, and smashes her against his muscular chest before she can speak. She’s relieved to be in arms, but not so pleased with being smothered. _Big, lovable goon_ , she thinks while she struggles to breathe.

It takes a couple of hard punches to get his attention and he finally steps back, but keeps a firm grasp on her shoulder. The joy on his face, and smile can’t cover the concern wrinkling the corners of his eyes. She wonders how long she was out, and how close she actually came to death. 

“It’s great to see you too, big guy, but I need to know-” 

“Calm yourself. Earth has been liberated and you will return there soon, once the Bifrost is been mended.”

Darcy sighs, finally relaxing for the first time in months. “Great. Now, I could really use a bathroom right now.” 

He laughs loudly and quickly guides her to the most amazing toilet she has ever seen in her life. She wishes she had her phone so she could take a picture to show Jane, and collect on the bet they made months ago about everything in Asgard being as ridiculously beautiful as Thor. It was like peeing on a gold plated piece of heaven.

The rest of the palace proves to be even more of a Disney Princess masturbatory fantasy on crack. Etherial men and women, who act pissy about having to clothe her short, curvy body, but after a lot of cinching, prodding and cursing in a language she doesn’t understand the job is done. 

They leave Darcy alone, to stare at their good work in a shining mirrored wall that ripples when she moves, as if it is made of liquid instead of glass. She takes in the sight of herself in Asgardian fashion. _Not half bad,_ she thinks, taking a twirl and giggles to herself.

He hair was braided into a crown, her face looks smooth and perfectly defined. She doesn’t even remember them putting on make up, but damn if she doesn’t look good. Her dress is green silk encased in sleek, black leather and a gold-plated corset. The similarities to Loki’s favored color scheme is not lost on her, and she wonders if it’s the Asgardian fashionistas’ idea of joke or a simply coincidence. 

“Are you hungry?” Sif appears behind Darcy, clearly staring at the dress with a deep frown on her face, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“I could eat.” Darcy follows Sif out of the room and through the winding hallways. 

While they walk along, Darcy secretly nick names Sif _the iron maiden of disapproval_. Not than she minds Sif. Actually she reminds Darcy a lot of Natasha, with her steely-eyed stares and monosyllabic answers. Yet, when Darcy made a sarcastic remark about how the palace could really use more gold, she saw the corner of Sif’s mouth curl into a ghost of a smile. 

The dining hall looks better suited to host the Superbowl than a meal. Despite it’s monstrous size if is packed with people, and tables overflowing with food. Not that Darcy was surprised. Thor seemed like the kind of guy who came from people who knew how to party. Sif seats Darcy at a table that is roughly the length of a stretch limo, and introduces her to Odin, who looks like a badass, one-eyed Santa Claus. 

“Thanks for saving my life.” It is likely the lamest thing she could have said, but Darcy can’t think of anything eloquent and figures it’s better than saying nothing.

“It was the least we could do, my dear.” A tall woman steps forward to answer, while Odin nods in agreement.   
  
She introduces herself as Frigg, Thor’s mother. Loki called her mother too. Darcy forces herself to smile despite the sick twisting in her stomach. Thor finally arrives, taking a seat beside her and calls for a toast.

“To Darcy Lewis, Shieldmaiden of Earth!” The room erupts in a roar of cheering and golden cups raise into the air. 

Darcy does her best to smile and wave, while Asgard looses it’s shit over the strange alien girl. She chugs the contents of her own cup, take a second to savor the sparkling sweet flavor of the wine and pours herself another one. She doesn’t know if it’s the best idea to get drunk, but she sure as shit doesn’t want to deal with this sober. 

Six drinks later Darcy relaxes and allows herself get lost in the spectacle, and tries to resist the urge to ask Thor for more information about everything. Though it’s tearing her up not knowing how did they won, and if S.H.I.E.L.D. still going. She wants to know if Natasha, Clint and the rest of the Avengers are still alive. Of course, there is one question at the forefront of her mind, but she was never going to ask it. 

Soon people call out to Thor, begging for him to tell them about the battle for Earth, and he makes a big deal of reluctantly rising to speak. Though it is easy to see that once he starts to tell the story he is just as excited to tell them as they are to hear it. Darcy smirks at his enthusiasm. He is like a big kid describing “the big game.” So proud of his grand adventure on Earth. 

He tells them about how he joined forces with the Avengers, and Loki to free Earth from the Chitauri. Darcy schools her expression, while she listens to him describe Loki riding a Leviathan into a squadron of Chitauri who were swarming over the Golden Gate bridge. Loki brought down the bridge, but he also broke the Chitauri’s forces and freed the city.  She can’t help imagining Loki emerge from the wreckage covered in dust with a wide grin that matched the one Thor is wearing as he tells the story.

When Sif asks about the final battle Thor sobers, and lowers his gaze to look at Darcy. She tries to smile at him, but the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach is making it difficult to wear a brave face. He gives her an answering smile, and returns his attention to the rest of the room.

He talks about the Avengers arrival in Manhattan, and their plan to fly a modified Chitauri speeder, with a nuclear warhead strapped to it through the portal to take out the mothership. His smile turns sad as he speaks about Loki taking off on the speeder before the others could stop him. Thor’s eyes shine with unshed tears as tells his people of the pride he felt while he watched his brother disappear through the portal. All she can feel is nauseous.  

Darcy is on her feet, mumbling an apology while she heads for the nearest exit. She needs to get away from the sound of Thor’s voices, away from all the eyes following her out of the room. What she wouldn’t give to have the Bifrost zap her home or into the darkest, deepest hole it can find. 

She should be happy. Earth is safe. Her friends are alive. Loki did it. He closed the portal, just like she asked him to. Fury is probably over the moon. He might even take her request to do field work seriously. So why is she crying?

Thor finds her hiding in the shadows of an empty corridor, blubbered like an idiot and blowing her nose on the silken sleeve of her dress. She too embarrassed to face him at first, but he forces her to turn and gently wipes away her tears. His big, dumb, beautiful face is twisted with an expression of sad understanding. 

“You missed the end of my tale,” he says, taking her hand and tucking under his arm while he guides her out of the shadows.

“I’m not a big fan of endings,” she replies, while reluctantly following him through the winding hallways and wonders where they’re going. 

“You might enjoy how this tale ends.” Thor says, pulling her through a towering archway leading to a wide balcony. 

The glittering lights of Asgard brighten the night sky, rivaling the glory of the stars above. She remembers Loki describing the sight to her once. He was right, words don’t even come close to doing the glorious beauty of his home justice. 

Thor takes hold of her in a strong grasp, startling a little gasp from her. There’s a familiar metallic hum as his hammer sails into his waiting hand. Darcy grips the front of his tunic, while he twirls his hammer and they fly over the edge of the balcony.

They fall between the gold and ivory towers, into ever-darkening shadows, until she can only see the night sky above them. “Where are we going?” 

“I believe that is what you call a surprise.” 

She can’t see his face clearly, and she’s pretty sure he’s not that type of guy, but... “You do remember I’m your girlfriend’s best friend and hitting on me will get you a hard kick to your god-balls.”

Thor laughs, “Trust that what is left of your virtue will be safe with me.” 

“Hey,” she protests with a soft punch to his chest.

Their feet touch solid ground, before she can think of a good come back, and he pulls her toward a soft, glowing at the end of a long corridor. It doesn’t take long for them to find the source of the glow. When Darcy sees it she stops short, like her feet are glued to the ground. 

Loki is seated upon the floor of a large, glass-walled enclosure, a book in his hand and tranquil expression on his face. His gilded cage matches everything else in Asgard. Even their prisons look like palaces. Their prisoners, like princes. 

Darcy can’t think of a thing to say. The sight of Loki alive, a few feet away from her has stolen every word of the English language from her brain. All she can focus on is the thundering beat of her own heart, and the way Loki isn’t looking at her.

He raises a hand, and carefully licks his finger before using it to turn a page. A languid sigh escapes his lips, while the arrogant asshole continues to completely ignore her presence. Anger flares to life inside her, ungluing her feet and tongue. 

“Don’t you have anything to say?” She screams at him.

Loki looks up. As if he is only just noticing her, and slowly closes his book. He sets it down upon the floor, stretches like a sated cat and stands. 

“No,” he says, and walks away, leaving her to glare at his back. 


	18. The Last Stand of a Fallen God

Why did Thor bring her here? Is this some new way to torture him further by flaunting what he has lost before him, clothed in Asgardian finery no less. He did not believe Thor capably of this depth of cruelty. Yet the evidence stands mere feet beyond his impenetrable prison; living, breathing and screaming for his attention. 

“You unbelievable ass,” Darcy’s voice is like a jagged blade slicing him open, leaving him raw and aching. “I thought you were dead.”

“As did I,” Thor steps forward out of the shadows, his eyes meeting Loki’s for a second, before training on Darcy. “That was the ending you missed. He barely escaped Death’s grasp, slipped through the portal seconds before it closed.”

Has he not suffered enough humiliation? Must he stand idle while Thor twists the knife even more? Loki cannot bare to hear more. To stand impotent while Darcy listens to how he fell from the sky, unconscious and powerless to be caught, like a fallen maiden, in his brother’s waiting arms. How he was close to death and had to be nursed back to health by their mother, like a child. 

His fingers curl into fists, the power gathering in a swirling, angry mist of green light. “Enough.”

The power erupts outward, throwing all the furniture within his cell against the walls. The lines of magic, that binds him to this prison flare to life and remind him that even if he wished to reach out to her. Even if he could bring himself to admit the joy that course through him to see her alive, the prison will not allow it. He has tried, countless times, to break it’s hold. 

When he first awoke within its confines he had thrown all his power, will and even his body against the walls, only to be to punished with searing pain. They left him to languish in ignorance and solitude for days. It was Frigg who finally came, her presence compounding his humiliation. Her love, and forgiveness stung, but the news she brought of Darcy’s slow, but promising recovery was a balm.

Darcy is a vision, even in her fury and rage she burns with a beauty that shames glory of Earth’s most brilliant star. The green silk brings out the dazzling color of her eyes, and the gold plate-mail gives her pale skin a warm, inviting glow. Seeing her body encased in black leather conjures up sensuous memories that only serve to plunge him further into a state of painful arousal that he has no hope of resolving without humiliating himself.

There is no greater pain than the sight of her standing beyond his reach. The futility of it cuts too deep to be borne. Loki is not known for his grace upon duress. He has no intention of learning humility now.

“Leave my sight and take that creature with you.” He speaks to Thor, and gestures toward Darcy with a lazy wave of his hand. 

“Fucking coward.” Her words poisonous words have the desired effect, but he only gives her a devious smirk in reply. 

He watches her stomp away, leaving him alone with Thor and the oppressive air of disapproval. “What purpose does it to serve to hurt her?”

“I would ask you the same question, brother.” Loki spins on his heel and resists the urge to throw himself at the wall like caged animal they’ve reduced him to.

“I seek only to bring you both a measure of peace,” Thor sighs, stepping forward to throw something small at the Loki. 

The wall flares again, golden light stinging Loki’s eyes and then it is gone. A small clink sounds within the chamber, as a ring rolls across the floor to hit the toe of his boot. He does not move to pick it up, suspicious it is yet another trick. It is a braided band of gold, embedded with tiny emeralds. 

“Eternity is a long time to spend alone.” Thor walks away, leaving Loki with the ring and his thoughts.


	19. The Power and Poison of Hope

She wants to keep walking all the way back to Earth and never have to think about this planet or the epic asshole in his little golden prison ever again. How could she have ever cried over him? He obviously doesn’t give a shit about her and why should he? She lied to him, used him, but she did it to save Earth from the alien threat he brought. 

It is all his fault. If he hadn’t brought his emotional baggage and stupid war to her planet, she would be living a happy ignorant life. But no, he had to bring the Loki show to town. Which mean she had to be the big hero, had to prove she could make everything right when no one else wanted to try the risky mission. 

Okay, maybe, just maybe she did want to actually meet him. She had heard and read so much about him, and the things he did. It didn’t help that Jane wouldn’t stop talking about Thor in all his super sexy, Asgardian glory. Darcy wasn’t going to violate the bestie code and rub one out to her best friends boyfriend. 

It was only natural she would be curious about his bad boy brother. Maybe even a little turned on by the golden horns and the sexy accent. She’s only human and he is a fucking god!

She is rationalizing and she knows it, but the alternative is too much to handle. Loki is alive. He saved Earth, like she asked him to and he wants nothing to do with her. He won’t even talk to her and that’s what hurts the most. 

Because deep down she wants him to say he did it all for her and that he loves her. She wants the fairy tale, where she gets her god prince, the pretty dresses, the happy ever after, and she hates herself for it.

This isn’t a fairy tale. There is no happy endings for them. He is a murder and she is just a girl who fucked him. They don’t make Disney movies about people like them.

“Darcy,” Thor calls after her, but the last thing she wants to do is hear him make excuses for Loki’s bullshit, or worse see her cry, yet again.

“Please, Darcy.” Thor catches up with her, taking hold of her arm, but she turns to slap his hand away.

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” She screaming, tears making another humiliating appearance. “This was stupid. All of it. I can’t even believe that I...”

Darcy sputters, taking a deep breath, while she tries to form her anger into coherent words. Thor stands silently waiting for her to continue. He looks like he’s either about to laugh or start screaming himself. She realizes that she’s being an unbelievable bitch. He of all people understands.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Something about his easy-going nature makes it easier to ask. “Everything he’s done...all the people he murdered. When he acts like that, how can you still love him?” _How can I?_ Darcy can’t bring herself to say the last part out loud.

Thor let’s out a heavy sigh, and shakes his head. He looks older, tired. She wonders if she looks the same.

“No living creature is wholly evil, even Loki.” Thor kneels down so that they are on level ground when their eyes meet. “There is a good in him, and I know you have seen it. No matter how small that spark may be, I believe love and compassion can fan it into a flame.”

“But how do you love someone who has...” She shakes her head, but he stops her, taking hold of her chin.

“Forgiveness is not an easy path to walk,” he insists with a sad smile, full of meaning that is not lost on her. 

Darcy made a face and huffed, “That’s what I mean, how do you forgive someone for trying to destroy your fucking planet.”

“By first forgiving yourself for loving him,” Thor replies with a shrug, like it is really that easy.

She stares at him, and tries to figure out who the hell parked a semi-truck in her throat. It’s threatening to smother her with shame and guilt. If only it would just kill her and save her from the humiliation of Thor calling her out. _Well fuck._

“My mother says hope is the most powerful force in the universe,” he continues, taking her hand in his own and sliding something warm into her palm. “To love is the purest form of hope, Darcy. There is no ill it cannot heal.”

He release her and stands, while Darcy stares at the gold and emerald encrusted ring he placed in her hand. She wants to argue with him, but she can’t find the words. All she can feel is the weight of the ring in her hand and an ache in her chest.

“Come, you need your rest and time to think on what I’ve said.” He gentle takes her arm and leads her away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “No living creature is wholly evil, even Loki." This was paraphrased from something that Tom Hiddleston said in an interview when asked if Loki is redeemable. I hope I captured his meaning and Thor's words resonates with readers. :)


	20. Fortune Favors the Brave

Loki sits alone within the hollow chamber of his cell, sipping wine. The ring, Thor’s strange gift, lay before him. The unassuming circle of gold and green stands out from the dark skin of the table.

Setting his cup aside, he picks up the ring and balances it upon the tip of his finger. A small burst of his power sets it spinning, turning the circle into a sphere. He tilts his hand, and the shining gold ball dance along the pale skin of his knuckles.

It is a simple trick. One of the first he learned. He was but a boy, filled with hope and hunger for the promise of a bright future. Frigga had filled his head with foolish dreams, while teaching him simple magic. All in an effort to distract him from his great failure.

She had been tending a self-inflicted wound. The result of a foolish mistake born out of love of his brother and desire to measure equality in their father’s eyes. His first attempt sword play with Thor and his companions, had ended when the heavy sword had slipped from Loki’s grasp and and cut a deep gash in his thigh.

Odin had been furious, blaming Thor for allowing his brother to come to harmed. Loki, humiliated, had been sent to his chambers, to be tended and treated like a child. Frigga attempted to salve his wounded pride, by reassuring him that his talents lie elsewhere. _Such beautiful hands are made for finer arts_ , she had said, placing a golden coin in his palm and showed him the art of charming the metal to do his will.

With a flick of his wrist he catches the ring, and slaps it down on the table. He is no longer a child. His powers no longer an amusing trick. They are weapons of deceit and destruction, wielded with a cold, callus heart. He once took pride in that, but now, it leaves him as empty as the hollow chamber in which he has been left to rots.

This brightly lit prison, with windows for walls is utterly devoid of shadows. The Allfather has left exposed, without the solace or shelter of even the smallest shadow. They could take no chance he could conjure up a way to escape. He is trapped and alone, a fitting punishment. If he were not already used to solitude and inescapable torment.

He considers the ring again, lifting it up, allowing the emeralds to catch the light. It is garish, and extravagant. Far to overstate for Loki’s taste. Most likely it was crafted to Thor’s taste, with his brother in mind. _He always did like shinny things._

Thor on the other hand is not as prudent as the Allfather. His heart is soft, sentimental and forever set upon Loki’s redemption. He once thought it a weakness, and one day it would surely lead to his brother’s downfall. Now, he wonders if his brothers weakness will yet again serve as an advantage.

Loki slowly slips the ring on this finger and feels a tingling warmth. The metal shifts tightening around his fingers, shrinking. The golden skin swallowing most of the emeralds, until on sits at its center. Now it is smaller, understated and quite beautiful. His thoughts turned toward Darcy, and his lips spread in a mirthless smile. A perfect example of how something small, and unassuming can harbor untold surprises.

A sharp sting shot through his finger. He does not gasp, or startle, but he does freeze. The change is subtle, almost imperceptible, but her presences is undeniable.

He remains seated. Takes another sip of his wine, and sets his cup down with a steady hand. All the while he listens to her breathing, counting the beats of her heart, while wishing she was the source of sweetness coating his tongue.

“Are you planning to ignore me forever?” Her voice echos inside the close space of the chamber.

“It has a certain appeal.” His voice is devoid of humor, as he turns in his chair to face her. 

Darcy stands before him no long garbed in Asgardian finery. Her clothing is decidedly plainer, and unmistakably of Midgard. The colors are bland, the fit is ill and unflattering to the curvaceous body he knows dwells beneath the excess fabric.

“If this is to be a seduction you are over dressed.” He makes a show of looking unimpressed and turns back to the table to refill his cup of wine. “I always preferred you naked.” 

“And I like you better when you don’t act like a brat, but we don’t always get what we want.” She retorts with a heavy sigh.

With a flick of his wrist he sends the table flying into the glass wall, where it shatters in a shower of golden sparks. It quickly reform itself in a new table, but he is satisfied the threat is clear. She would be a fool to ignore it.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Her words are little more than a whisper, but it echos in the closed space of his chamber.

“Oh, but you should be,” he laughs, low and menacing, rising to his feet to stride toward her again. 

She does not run, does not even struggle as he takes hold of her throat and lifts her off the ground. Her heart beat thunders beneath her breast, but she doesn’t scream. There is no panic in her eyes. Instead she smiles, even as a tear slips from the corner of her eye to stain his hand. It infuriates him. 

She should be afraid, should have run from him, at least fought his hold on her throat. Instead she merely grasps his wrist, to keep herself from choking while her feet dangle. Foolish, mortal girl lacks the instincts of a simple animal. She should know better than any the what he is capable of, what he has done and will undoubtedly do again given the chance. 

“This is no game, girl,” he screams in her face, raging against her docile expression.  
“Do not think me weak like Thor. I will not spare you and there is no one to save you from my wrath.”

Her smile turns sinister and she laughs, a hushed breathy sound not unlike the way she used to laugh while under his whip. “I don’t need anyone to save me.”

The shock is sudden, the pain blinding. Loki does not even realize he has released her until his back slams against the wall. He crumples to the floor in a graceless heap, and lets out a low grunt. _What has she done?_

“They called it the serpent’s tongue.” Darcy answers his unspoken question and waves the small dagger in a taunting manner, as bright blue veins of magic crawl across the blade. “I call it my boomstick. Sadly, no one here gets the joke.” 

With a heavy sigh, she slides the blade back into her coat and continues to speak. “I’m not here to play games. I thought you would have picked up on that when I didn’t show up naked wearing a dog collar, but we both known you’re not to good with subtly.”

“Mockery will not win my attention or favor.” He rises to his feet and straightens his robes. 

“Fair enough. Let’s drop the bullshit then.” She snaps, folding her arms over her chest. 

Her confidence is unsettling, as is the fact that she posses the power to hurt him. He may accept the reality of his confinement, but the idea that she is in a place of power above him is unsettling. Not that he will allow her to see just how off balance he is. 

“Then by all means continue,” he says with a magnanimous bow and wave of his hand.

She smiles, setting his nerves on edge and continues to speak. “I’ve come to offer make you an offer.”

“The Allfather wishes to grant me clemency?” He raises an eyebrow, doubtful even as he speaks the words. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s a second chance...with me.”

It is seduction she seeks. He is surprised by his own disappointment. Should he not welcome a distraction? Darcy was a most delightful one once. Yet, the sight of her obvious discomfort caused him to suspect she was not wholly willing and he found the idea of forcing himself upon her repugnant. “I have no desire for a slave.” 

“Good, cause I’m not offering to be one.” She snaps, exasperated and kicks over a small stacks books, sending them flying across floor. “You are such a pain in the ass.”

He stifles a grin, taking petty enjoyment in her frustration. Matching slashes of color spread across her cheeks and tinted the tips of her ears. Making him wonder what other parts of her were also turning a similar shade of red. 

“Is that an invitation or an insult, with you I’m never quite sure.”

Darcy tilts her head, her eyes fixing on him, and then she erupts into laughter. “See, I know you like to think you’re the Big Bad, but I don’t think your half the asshole you play at being.” 

“Then you are as much of a fool as Thor,” he sneers.

He is growing weary of this game. His brother never-ending quest to redeem that which is by its very nature beyond redemption. Thor longs for a brother he never truly had, and Loki will not long pretend to be what he is not.

“There are worst things to be,” she replies with a sad smile, and steps closer to him. 

“Yes, dead being principle among them.” He practically hisses the threat, but she doesn’t stop until she is inches from him.

“If you wanted me dead you would have killed me the second I appeared.” Darcy peers up at him through the thick curtain of her wavy hair, her confidence suddenly back in full force. “Hell, you wouldn’t have bothered to save my life in the first place.”

“As if I could be bothered to care about your life.” He argues, glaring down his nose at her.

“Liar,” she whispers, holding up her hand to display a golden ring, a twin to the one upon his finger. “They kind of work like a cosmic phone. All you have to do is put it on, think about me and I’ll come.”

Loki stares at the ring, while Darcy smirks. Silence hangs thick between them, as the implication of what she has said sinks in. He had to be thinking of her for the magic to work, and she knows it. All his bluster and artifice is for naught. He has nothing left, no shadows to hide him, no lies she will believe. 

“Speechless? That’s gotta be first for you.” Her expression softens, as she reaches up to touch his face.

She catches him by surprise. It is the only explanation for the suddenly lose of control. He feels the magic slip lose, and his carefully crafted guise falls away. For the first time he truly feels the press of her warm hand against his own cool skin. A shiver passes through her, and into him. Her pulse jumps, but she doesn’t pull away. 

It is Loki who steps back, gently pries her hand from his face and pulls his glamor back into place. Standing tall again, but still deeply shaken, he takes a deep breathe and composes himself. All the while, Darcy merely stares at him, with an unreadable expression upon her face. 

“What do you want from me?” He is thankful for the steady cadence of his voice, that does not betrayal the turmoil within him. 

“Honesty, for a start.” 

“For what purpose?” His voice cracks slightly, betraying him. 

“I can’t love someone I don’t trust.” She holds his gaze, the power of her words unknitting his remaining calm.

He lowers his gaze, unable to process what she has said. _Love?_ It is a word used in a stories, reserved for drunken songs and men who are not him. Is it madness and is contagious? The strangled pain in his chest was making a strong argument for it.

Darcy lips spread into an almost impish grin, and she opens her mouth to speak, but is cut short by a beeping sound. She pulls a small Midgardian device out of her her pocket. Something flashes across the screen and she sighs. “I have to go.” 

Pride keeps him in his place, while she tucks the device away, but it cannot hold his tongue. “Wait.” 

Darcy looks up at him. “What?” 

She cannot simply leave, not after what she has said. He needs answers, and reassurances. “Will you return?”

“Of course.” Her quick response leaves him feeling foolish.

“Why?” The word slips free of his lips before he realizes he has asked.

“Why not?” She disappears without further explanation, leaving him to stare at the empty space where she once stood. 


End file.
